silver eyes
by sparkling skies
Summary: Oneshot. "His eyes have turned molten; they aren't blue or silver or black, but some entrancing mixture of all three. I've missed these eyes so much it hurts."


so, uh. yeah. i keep sitting down to write happiness, i do, but then it comes out sadness and i think i'm just an angsty depressing person. *runs to hide in emo corner*

reviews will me happier though, my lovies. just for future reference. in case you run into a button that says something along the lines. of course what are the odds of that. heh heh.

**~silver eyes~**

He was about to step into the water, until I whispered his name.

His hair shines in the moonlight, and his normally blue eyes turn silver, and I'm a mixture of awestruck and sad. It hurts, he didn't find me, but seeing him now—none of that matters. I wrap my arms around myself and shake my head so the wind will blow my hair out of my face. "Where have you been?"

He straightens at my tone and I watch as his eyes subtly take in my dripping hair, the shorts that have turned a dark shade of blue from the water. They soften, those silver eyes, and he frowns. I turn away from words that are saturated with disapproval.

"Massie, it's freezing out," he says softly. "Look at you." I can hear his footsteps as he moves across the sand and I stumble backwards. The sound instantly stops. "Mass, what's wrong?"

I take a deep breath, smelling the salty ocean and gritty sand. What's wrong is that he didn't try to find me. That he isn't even acting like the last few days have happened. That he's been home for a week now and he hasn't made a move to talk to me. That he's been hiding from me. I've missed him so much.

"I don't understand," I whisper. I really don't understand. Everything's all mixed up. I'm glad I stopped him though, I don't want it to happen again. I don't want him to—

"Babe, why are you crying?" His tone is scared now, and I lift a hand to feel the dampness of my cheeks. I just don't get it. How could he be here? "Massie, sweetheart, come here," and he steps closer, but this time I don't move away, and he wraps his strong arms around me. I bury my nose in his collar and twine my arms around his body; I don't think I've ever hugged anyone so hard. He runs a hand over my hair and I cry some more from the familiarity of it all. How many times had he held me like this?

"I thought you left me," I say. I kiss his shoulder before resting my head there. I'm so, so, insanely relieved and happy at this moment that it startles me. _Of course _he's been here. Of course he loves me. It was all just a bad dream. It had to have been. I nuzzle his chest and slide my hands under his shirt. The skin of his back is warm and soft.

He laughs and I smile. Oh, how I had missed that laugh! Pulling my hands away from his back, he locks our fingers together and gives me a mock stern look. "No," he chides, "no skin for you."

I scowl at him, but he only grins. "You're one to talk," I mutter. How many times had he slid his hands up _my_ shirt?

I stop glaring, however, when I realize that his expression is serious. As serious as it'd ever been. I give him a look that I'm sure is full of confusion. This is such a joyous moment, how the hell could he look so thoughtful? Locking my eyes with his, I remove my hands from his grip and place them lightly on each side of his face.

"What are you thinking about?"

He shakes his head a little and glances back down at my clothes. I look down too, and my hair is still as wet as it was before, my shorts still as heavy and soaked. I don't even have on a shirt, instead just a bikini top. I wrinkle my nose. It's been so long and this is how he gets to see me?

He places his hands over mine. "Aren't you freezing? You'll be sick tomorrow, for sure, and I'll probably get the blame." I smile at him, because yes, under any other circumstance my parents would blame him. The older boy should know how to keep a girl healthy, correct? "And then," he continues, teasingly, "I wouldn't be able to see you. So are you cold?"

I can feel my eyes start to water again. I couldn't think of not seeing him anymore. This whole moment is nothing less than a miracle. Or everything else was just a bad dream. "Actually," I gently touch my lips to his (the sparks are still there too), "I've never been warmer."

His expression loses all playfulness again and I almost regret my words. But the look he gives me, it holds a thousand meanings. His eyes are still silver and the more I stare into them the more entranced I am, the more thankful that things weren't what I thought, and even in the dark I can see that his cheeks are tinted pink. Little puffs of air appears whenever he takes a breath, and that leads me to his lips, which are so kissable at this moment that I can't help but take a sharp breath.

It's like a chain reaction, this intake of breath. His eyes turn something molten now, no longer blue or silver or black. He moves one hand to my neck and gently pulls my mouth to his. The kiss is urgent, though, and it's needy and heavy with everything that I'd missed this last bit of time. It's as if, if I don't get as much of him as I can at this very single moment, I might starve or die of some kind of loss that I refuse to imagine. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip and I allow him access to everything I have. I press myself against him, because I love him _so much_ and I've missed him _so much_ and now he's here and somehow we make it to the ground and things slow down until it's just me and him and the tenderness of his touch, the gentleness of his body against mine and the rightness of us together, finally, totally and forever together.

And then I cry again.

Because now mom is hovering above me and I'm only waking up on my bed and Cam is in the corner, sadder than I've ever seen him. I cry as I put on the black dress I laid out last night and I cry as we make our way to the church and then to the cemetery. I cry as I watch his casket lowered into the ground.

And then I cry until I run out of tears, until I run out of heart—because I've only got half of one now, Harris took the rest—as I realize that I'll never get that magic moment, that no matter how many nights I go searching the waters for him, I'll never see him again.

I can dream fantasies over as many times as I can fall asleep, but that'll never change the fact that he drowned in the goddamned ocean.


End file.
